Out of the Ashes
by tragicbeauty1991
Summary: Once a year he remembers. Once a year he recognizes his part in the disaster of Horevundush Day.  The madness is his refuge, but it cannot save him.  Can he rise out of the ashes of his clan, or will the madness destroy him?


**Author's Note: Well, this story is really angsty (When are my stories ever NOT angsty?), but I'm very happy with the way it turned out. Lots of Alice/Hatter friendship with a little romance thrown in ('cause I'm a sucker for a happy ending!). I hope you enjoy the story! Please read and review!**

**Oh, by the way, I don't own Alice in Wonderland. Lewis Carroll, Tim Burton, and Disney do. **

**~CaptainHooksGirl~**

**Out of the Ashes**

"How is he?" a concerned voice drawled.

The owner of the voice, which had seemed to come out of thin air, slowly materialized into a distinctly feline shape. There was an abnormally large, toothy grin plastered on the cat's face, yet the worry was evident in his liquid turquoise eyes.

The dormouse sighed and shook her head sorrowfully, her small pink ears drooping. "Same as this time last year. And the year before that…" _And the year before that and the year before that…_

A garbled mix of incoherent English and Outlandish slurs could be heard coming from the Hatter's workshop on the other side of the wall. He was yelling at the crockery again, had been doing so for the past half-hour by Mally's calculation.

The morning had started out normal enough – well, normal for Underland, that is! They'd had their morning tea together as usual. Then he'd taken his order of hats from the queen and headed back to his workshop to begin working. He was just starting on the first order of the day when he'd realized that the color of the ribbon he'd set out was not at all the right shade of green, and one must have just the right shade, you know, to keep the sun out of your eyes. No, this pale green simply would not do! Now, where was that mint green ribbon? Ah, yes! In the left bottom drawer right next to the –

The Hatter froze, eyes wide, hand poised in mid-air over the contents of the drawer. And then he'd seen the dress. And then he remembered what day it was. And then he lost it.

The sudden sound of expensive China shattering against the heavy oaken door made the dormouse jump back, squeaking in surprise as the remnants of the queen's teacup came sliding under the small crack beneath the door, nearly knocking her off her feet.

She sighed again. "I wish there was somethin' we could do tah cheer 'im up. Maybe you should go talk tah 'im, Chess."

The cat's grin widened. "My dear, I hardly believe that my presence would calm him. You know as well as I do that I'm probably the last creature in Underland that he wants to see right now, and as I have no desire to commit suicide, I think I shall decline." The cat rolled first his torso, then his disembodied head over so that he was floating on his back. "Why don't _you_ go talk to him?"

She shook her head. "I already tried, but 'e's not in the mood tah listen. Usually I can bring 'im out of 'is thoughts with a good stick in the foot." She paused to brandish her tiny sword above her head, for good measure. "But when I tried today, 'e just kicked me off!" She glared at the door, hatpin sword clutched tightly in one hand and a bruised tail cradled in the other. "Stepped on my tail, 'e did! It's a wonder it's not broken." The dormouse frowned. She could never stay angry with her friend for long, especially when he was going through such a difficult time. She looked up at the cat imploringly. "There must be somethin' we can do."

The cat's smile faltered slightly. "He'll pull through, Mally. He's done it for the last ten years, and he can do it again. It won't be easy, but he'll survive."

"I know, but we should be there for 'im. We're 'is friends!"

"Indeed, but we can't very well be there for him when he clearly doesn't want anything to do with us! In fact, I don't think he wants anything to do with anyone at the moment."

Mally frowned. She couldn't argue with that, but the cat's answer was not as satisfactory as she would have liked.

The feline briefly disappeared in a swirl of blue-green mist, then reappeared at the dormouse's side, his tail wrapped comfortingly around her sagging shoulders, and for once, he wasn't smiling. "Don't fret, Love. Right now, the best thing we can do for Tarrant is to leave him in peace." He sighed dramatically. "It's the same every year. He'll rage, he'll cry, and then tomorrow he'll be back to being his usual happy, mad self."

The dormouse looked longingly at the door, wishing she was big enough to go in there and either wrap her friend in a hug or slap some sense into that silly head of his. She glanced back at the cat, still uncertain of his confident solution to the problem at hand. "I sure hope you're right."

Alice rapped gently on the door to the Hatter's workshop and let herself in, pausing briefly to take in the scene before her. The room was in ruins. Fragments of blue and white ceramic material – once a delicate royal tea set – littered the floor. Bits of fabric had been torn to shreds. Sequins and ribbons had been tossed haphazardly around the room like confetti, and there were enough feathers lingering about to give one the impression that a magnificent pillow fight had occurred. There were hats and dresses lying here and there, some ripped and torn beyond repair, others merely a bit rumpled. The desk was tipped over, ink running down its side like black tears, staining the heap of sketches and orders that had settled to the ground.

And there was the Hatter, standing with his back to the open door. His voice seethed with poison. "Ifinn yeh're 'ere fer a hat, ye migh' as well leave. Ah'm nae takin' any new orders."

But there was no sound of retreating footsteps or closing of doors, and he felt the madness rise. How dare they come to humiliate him? How dare someone bother him about something as trivial as a new hat on today of all days? How dare they think they could just march right in here like they owned the place and act like nothing had happened? He'd show them!

The brogue deepened dangerously. "Are ye deaf or jes incredibly stupid? Ah, tol' ye tah leave meh alone, ye urkal, slurking, slurvish, pilgar-licking – " He whirled to face his opponent, preparing to chuck a teapot at the intruder, and stopped short when he realized that the visitor was certainly _not_ any of the things he had just said. He dropped the teapot, flushing at the thought of having directed such words at the rather confused-looking Alice standing his doorway.

"Oh! A-Alice! I'm terribly sorry! I-I didn't know it was you at the door! If I had known it was you, I never would have said such horrid things, though I suppose I shouldn't have said such things to begin with, a-and I don't think you're stupid, and I didn't mean any of that, and I – "

"Hatter!"

"Sorry!" he wheezed. "I'm fine."

But his eyes told another story. Alice watched curiously, cautiously, as they wavered between red and blue. She bit her lip and glanced down at the floor, which had suddenly become very interesting. She wasn't afraid of him, per say, but she knew better than to test his limits. "I was just coming to see if you were interested in going on a picnic this afternoon," she whispered.

The Hatter lowered his own eyes shamefully, hating himself for making her nervous. "Nauw's nae a gehd time, lass. Mayhap another day…" He bowed his head. "Ah'm nae mahself at the moment."

"Oh…Perhaps I'll come back later, then?" she asked hopefully.

"Aye, Ah think that would be best." He hated to push her away, but right now he just couldn't bear to have company because that meant putting on a smile and pretending to be okay because that's what everyone expected him to do, and right now he didn't think he could do that. He knelt to pick up his own hat, which had fallen off during the melee, and placed it back on his head. When he stood, he was surprised to see Alice mimicking his previous posture.

"Here, let me help you get this cleaned up." She reached for a child-sized green silk dress.

In an instant, he was at her side, her wrists held prisoner in his iron grip. "DINNAE TOUCH THA'!" he roared, wrenching the dress from her hands.

And for a brief instant, he saw a flicker of fear in her eyes. His hands went slack, and he quickly returned them to his side, backing away like a cornered animal. "I-I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

He turned his back to her again, hugging the dress tightly to his chest as though he feared he might crumble if he didn't hold himself together.

"Hatter?" There was no response.

Alice swallowed back her fear and gathered up whatever muchness she had left. "Hatter, I'm sorry if I offended you. It was not my intention. Are you angry with me?"

He did not turn around but shook his head slowly.

"Are you ill, then? You don't seem to be feeling very well."

Again, he shook his head. She noticed something wet hit the floor.

Alice walked closer, daring to touch his arm. He stiffened. "Hatter, what's wrong? Please tell me."

She gently turned him so that she could see his face. His dark sapphire eyes, brimming with fresh tears, were red and puffy. His lips, nearly always curled up in a smile, were drawn tight, and his pale cheeks glistened with wet tracks of the silent tears that threatened to erupt into a noisy waterfall. His breath was shaky. Another tear slipped loose, rolling gently down the curves of his face until it hung from the tip of his nose, trembled, and then fell quietly to the floor.

His gaze was empty and pleading, imploring her – begging her – to leave him to his shame, to let him suffer his grief in peace. He couldn't keep up the façade any longer. And yet…there was a part of him that wanted her to stay, that was desperately afraid of being left alone. He closed his eyes and licked the salty tears from his lips. "Why…why is a Raven like a writing desk?"

Alice offered him a small smile, already knowing the appropriate response. "I haven't the slightest idea."

He opened his eyes and tried to return the smile, but it was a painful effort. "No one ever does," he said sadly.

Alice frowned, a bit confused. She thought she'd understood this little game of his. Had she done something wrong? She shook her head. "I…I don't understand…"

"You're not supposed to," he replied flatly, hoping to end the conversation.

Alice said nothing, but he could feel the curiosity burning within her, the questions she wanted to ask but was too polite to put into words. He took a deep, steadying breath.

"Raven…" He had to pause to swallow back the sob that was creeping up the back of his throat. "Raven was my little sister."

"Oh!" Alice exclaimed, suddenly feeling guilty. She had always supposed the question to be merely a riddle. It never occurred to her that the "Raven" he so often referred to might be a person instead of a bird. "I'm sorry, I – "

The Hatter interrupted her. If he was going to start this story, he needed to finish it, and he needed to finish it quickly if he wanted to get it all out before he went into unintelligible sobs. He could feel the choking pressure building up. He knew he wouldn't be able to fight it for long, but for now, he would try to keep whatever little dignity he had left.

"All Hightopps are…" He swallowed thickly again. "All Hightopps _were_," he corrected himself, "either hatters or seamstresses by trade, but Raven was a storyteller at heart…Young as she was – not much older than you on your first trip to Underland – she could captivate the entire clan with her stories, making even the most dull, dreary piece of fact or fiction into some wonderful and exciting adventure!" There was a gleam of pride in his eyes and a whisper of a smile on his face. "Father used to say that she was a walking writing desk with all those stories up in her head! Over time, it became a bit of a family joke to ask why a Raven was like a writing desk. Of course, we all knew the answer, but outsiders hadn't the slightest idea what we were talking about, and we would walk off giggling madly at our little nonsense riddle while they stood there looking at us like we were a bunch of lunatics!" He nearly laughed but then frowned suddenly. "That's all it is now…a nonsense riddle…It doesn't mean anything anymore…"

He glanced down, remembering for the first time since the conversation had begun that he still had the dress. He ran his rough fingers over the cool silken fabric, tracing the band of tiny white embroidered roses with his thumb. His breath hitched. His chest had become uncomfortably tight, as though some invisible giant had squeezed all the air from his lungs. He allowed a few tears but nothing more…He _would _get through this. Alice deserved to know.

His voice was barely a whisper. "There was…there was an annual festival the Hightopps held every spring on the tenth of Juliember."

Alice gasped. "Why, that's today!"

The Hatter winced but continued speaking as though she had not said anything. He didn't need to be reminded of the date. "That year the celebration was to be especially important because a new royal hatter had been selected…"

Alice smiled. "You?"

The Hatter nodded, but he did not seem to share Alice's enthusiasm. In fact, he looked as though he felt rather sick. "Mah fam'ly was so proud o' me," he choked, slipping back into the thick Outlandish brogue that always seemed to accompany his deepest, most heartfelt emotions.

Alice grew slightly worried. Had she offended him again? She rubbed her wrists where a few small purple bruises had arisen from his iron-fisted grip. Of course, he'd released her as soon as he'd realized he was hurting her, but she was still a bit uneasy. She quickly realized that she had nothing to fear, however. There was no anger in this voice, only brokenness and sorrow deeper than she could have ever imagined possible for one man's heart to bear.

He wiped the back of one of his rough, mercury-stained hands against his cheeks and tried to sniff back any more tears that might be hiding. "E'ryone in the entire clan was comin' out tah celebrate, an' Raven was so excited! Ah was goin' tah surprise 'er wi' a new dress as a goin' away present, since Ah'd be livin' in the castle permanently, but as it were, Ah fergot an' left it 'ere..." He shuddered. "Nauw it's all Ah've got left o' her."

He could feel the tremors creeping up his spine, the stinging at the back of his eyes intensify. Soon the dam would break. He drew another shaky breath. "It should 'ave been me!" he cried.

Alice shook her head. "Oh, Hatter, no! Don't ever think that!"

"But it's true!"

"Why?"

"BECAUSE IT WAS MAH FAULT!" His eyes were blazing with self-loathing and pain. He lowered his voice, for he did not wish to frighten Alice. "It was mah fault, Alice…Ah invited the White Queen…Ah put 'er out in the open…Ah made 'er an easy target an' put all o' Hightopp Clan at risk…An' when the Jabberwocky attacked, Ah ran out on 'em tah save mah own skin because Ah was too much o' a coward tah fight…" He shook his head, tears streaming freely down his porcelain cheeks. "Ah tried tah tell mahself tha' Ah did it tah save the queen, but Ah'm nae better than Chess!..." His voice hardened and he spoke through clenched teeth. "An' nauw mah fam'ly is dead because Ah was a worthless, gutless, slurvish, stinkin', selfish, slurking, greze-grommin', TEA DRINKIN', HAT MAKIN', IDIOT!"

He swerved away from Alice, slamming a fist into the wall hard enough to make his knuckles bleed. And finally he could fight no more. The dress slipped silently to the floor as the walls he'd fought so hard to keep up came crashing down around him, releasing a flood of tears – noisy, hiccupping sobs –that he couldn't hold back. He pressed his face against the castle wall, enjoying the feel of its cool marble surface against his hot cheek as he sank to his knees.

"It was…m-mah fault," he whispered between sobs. "Mah…fault…"

Alice was without words. How could she have ever considered leaving this man whose sanity was hanging by a thread? How could she have ever dismissed his pain by saying it was all a dream – that he was nothing more than a dream himself? And worse still, how could she have allowed herself to fear this man – this broken man who had risked everything to love her, knowing that the price of love is the pain of loss? And such a great loss he had experienced! And now here she was, standing by and watching him weep and tremble and bleed out his heart, taking even his dignity away. There was so much she owed to him, so much she wanted to say…but all she could manage was, "Oh, Hatter." And she felt two tears of her own slide down her cheeks.

He'd been waiting for the footsteps. That's how it always was…They left. They always left. They came and saw his madness, and they left because they were too disturbed or too afraid to stay. Or they came and saw his tears and when words could not console him – when he was a shivering, shuddering mess who couldn't even articulate well enough to form a complete sentence – they left because they didn't know what to say. And that was worse than the madness because at least in the madness they had seen someone who was strong, a reflection of the ancient Outlandish warrior that still ran in his blood, but those who had seen him in tears (and really, they were very few…most were frightened off too early to see him in grief) knew better…They saw all his weaknesses, all his faults laid bare. They saw the frightened man who had run from the flames and left his family to burn. They saw the hollow shell of a man who had lost everything he had because of a single act of selfishness that would haunt him the rest of his life. They saw the man who screamed at night because of the terrors that invaded his sleep – images of his loved ones' horrified faces and accusing fingers, of a terrible creature that looked as though it had escaped from hell itself, of the charred remains of a village that had once been his home without a single body to bury. They saw the real Tarrant, and he hated it. Forever after they would offer him empty condolences and sympathetic looks, but they would never understand…They never even tried to.

So it surprised him when he realized that the footsteps weren't going away…They were coming closer. He felt a gentle, warm hand on first one trembling shoulder, then the other as gently sank to her knees beside him and gathered him into her arms. His animate form suddenly froze, breath caught in his throat as he felt the warmth of her arms encircling his aching chest. Slowly, hesitantly, he returned the embrace. And then he cried into her shoulder. He cried for his family members who had lost their lives. He cried for the queen who had lost her crown on account of his carelessness. He cried for the soldiers who had lost their lives fighting a war to regain that crown. He cried for the innocent citizens who'd lost their heads at Salazen Grum. And most of all, he cried for himself, for being such a cowardly fool. He cried until his throat was raw and his nose was too stuffed up for him breathe and he had no more liquid left to cry. And all the while, Alice had been rubbing soothing circles up and down his back, silently weeping with him. She didn't utter a single word of comfort. She didn't have to.

When at last Tarrant dared to look up – when his breathing rate had steadied and he could once again see without blurred vision – he was a bit surprised to find that Alice was still there, sitting on the floor amid the feathers and the sequins and the shreds of fabric with rosy cheeks nearly as wet as his own, smiling gently. He swallowed thickly and tried to find his voice.

"Thank you, Alice," he whispered hoarsely and returned the gesture with his own small smile, the first real smile he'd had all afternoon. But it withered almost instantly when his eyes traveled to the wet spot on her shoulder. "Oh, dear, I've gone and ruined your dress! I'm sorry, Alice."

"Don't be. It's not that bad…Besides, I happen to know a certain royal hatter who makes wonderful dresses!"

His gaze wandered over to the green dress that lay on the floor, eyes momentarily flashing a dangerous red. Closing them briefly, he took a deep breath and then stood, slipped the scissors from his belt, and with trembling hands, started snipping. Alice watched, horrified, as bits of the cloth he'd held so dearly only moments ago fluttered to the floor like butterflies, too shocked to speak. Curiously, she watched him pick a few scraps of cloth, some sequins, and a mint green ribbon from the scraps on the floor, adding a few stitches here and there. Within minutes he was finished, the simple child's dress having been transformed into an elegant, green gown with off the shoulder sleeves and a chain of white embroidered roses around the waist. Gingerly – almost reverently – he held it out to her.

Alice slowly reached for the dress, taking it carefully into her arms. She rubbed the material gently between her thumb and index finger, relishing the smooth feel of the silk against her skin. "For me?" she breathed.

The Hatter ducked his head shyly in a nod. "If you like it."

"Oh, of course I do! It's lovely, but your sister – "

"Will always be in my heart." He looked first at the dress, then Alice, a few new tears threatening to spill over. "It's yours now."

Alice smiled. "The dress or your heart?" she asked teasingly.

The Hatter blushed and looked down. "Both."

He glanced back up, dreading the reaction he might receive. Alice was staring at him with an almost unreadable expression. She was shocked, that much was certain…He had caught her off guard. Likely she was planning a way to politely get out of the situation without hurting his feelings, but the damage had been done, and once again, he had been the one to bring the hurt upon himself. He sighed, returning his gaze to the floor when a soft hand gently lifted his chin so that his emerald eyes were staring into her soft dark ones. And what he found there surprised him…_Was that…Could it be…love?_ Whatever it was, it perked up his muchness. Hesitantly, he drew his fingertips to her cheek, brushing aside a stray curl and tucking it behind her ear. And somehow their faces had gotten closer and he could smell the scent of vanilla in her hair.

"A-Alice…May I…?"

But before he could reach the end of his question, he already had the answer. Their lips met briefly, his cracked and dry, hers soft and smooth. And then he was kissing her, and she was returning the kiss, softly and tenderly melting all the years of pain and guilt away. When they broke away, Alice gently brought her hand to his cheek and used her thumb to brush away a stray tear.

"Hatter? Why are you crying?"

He shook his head, smiling through the tears that continued to come. "I don't know. I've never felt this way before. I never thought I'd be this happy again."

Alice smiled.

"Alice?" The Hatter looked a bit worried. "Alice, I don't want this feeling to end."

She took one of his hands between her two smaller ones. "Then we'll make sure it lasts forever."

His emerald eyes were hopeful. "Promise?"

Smiling, Alice wrapped her arms around him and leaned her head against his chest. "I promise."


End file.
